A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Where I want to be | May 26, 2010

It’s still too early for me to sleep and I can’t really rest, I keep looking at the flowers and playing with the card in my fingers and sighing, loudly, repeatedly. I am such a jerk.

I wander through the darkness of the house, knowing it’s familiarity well. I should probably move out, get my own place. But I like our home.

I head straight for the kitchen where Bodil is sitting on the edge of the large wooden, kitchen table, sipping a coffee. Pizza snacks and coffee at the family home, when she’s got her own place? Maybe she’s having man problems too and doing as we Breukelen werewolf women seem to do, run away for some thinking space. Although I wouldn’t have thought was her style.

“Hey,” I greet her with pulling a mug out of the cupboard above my head and heading straight to the coffee pot. I don’t drink coffee all that often, it kind of makes me jittery if I have like more than two cups. Sometimes one cup is enough. But right now, feeling jittery is kind of already happening, so what harm could coffee do to this werewolf?

“Did you drive here?” I ask ignoring her lack of response to me. I think she’s mad at me after all. For the whole Conall fiasco on the front stoop.

“On my bike.”

“Oh.” I blow across the top of the coffee mug. Bodil shifts and looks at me suspiciously.

“You need a lift somewhere?”

“Is tribecca too far?” I ask sheepishly. My sister breaks into a big smile at me and cups her coffee mug.

“Not if it means you’re not with Conall Wakely. I could do with a ride anyway. I suck at being cooped up.” Bodil replies sipping her coffee and looking over the mug at me. “Makes me all, angsty.”

The restlessness. I get that. Probably all werewolves do.

Being alone and in one place, it’s just like putting us in a cage. We just go stir crazy internally. It’s like the natural order of ourselves has been put out of whack and the wolf inside knows it. After all, we’ve conditioned that wolf over years of growing up to accommodate us and itself with life in a city. That takes training. Lots and lots of training and getting used to.

I think that means I’m allowed to ask her why she’s hanging out here, instead of at her own place or with the guys. But then she looks away, has a bit of a distant look on her face, which is half covered in silhouette.

“Let me know when you want to go.”

I put the coffee cup down. I haven’t even sipped it.
“Is now too soon?”

She laughs and slides off the table towards me.
“Lets go.”

The drive to Manhattan is refreshing. The wind whips at my face, stinging it with it’s cold bite and I grin. It’s like being reminded of freedom, of escaping troubles. Of running towards what I want most in this world. It’s like being the wolf and sprinting, feeling the stretch of your legs hit ground and fly past everything in your path. Of being invincible.

I actually change my mind when we slow down into Manhattan traffic and decide I’ll try one of the clubs we would normally frequent, Paris and I first, before I go to his home.
So I get Bodil to drop me off at Crescent, in the meat packing district. She double checks with me that I’m sure I want to be there, and that I’ll be okay.

According to werewolf law, well, more like common pack courtesy she’s really not allowed in Manhattan on a lunar night. So she can’t hang around and wait, if she gets spotted it could cause all manner of upset. She has to head back to Brooklyn straight away.

I assure her I’m where I want to be and head into the club.

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